His companions were waiting for him at the edge of the camp. Jonas was already seated in his saddle, as was Tataramoa, while Geoff, Jenna, and Martin stood nearby, Geoff holding the reins of Elias's charger.
He took the reins from Geoff and mounted his horse. “There are no pennants flying, which is not normal for Valtheim. Brandt's standard is a white bear's paw in front of crossed swords, on a green field; in the days of his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, it flew from the tallest peak of the great hall and hung from each stone buttress along the outer wall. No colors fly now, which means that there has been a shift in power.”
Jonas's horse stepped in place, and he reined it in. “We knew that coming in, Redwood. What say we pay a visit to this city, and see what we can see.”
Jenna shook her head. “I still think you should bring a host of warriors with you. They'd be less likely to put an arrow in you offhand if they know there's an army that could lay siege to their city at a moment's notice.”
Elias looked back towards the ridge. “If Brandt is still in there, I don't want to threaten him, and if he is held captive, I don't want to give them a reason to hurt him. It's a short ride and a slightly longer march. You're not far away if we need you.”
Jenna nodded. “Be safe, Elias.” She turned to Jonas, and stood high on her toes, while he leaned down to kiss her. “And you, come back to me, or I swear by everything you hold dear, I'll make your afterlife a punishment you'd resurrect yourself to escape.”
Jonas grinned. “I wouldn't even dream of dying without your leave, my lovely.”
Jenna stepped back and swatted Jonas on the leg. “Go on, be about it then. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”
The three of them crested the ridge and started down the slope towards Valtheim, Elias in the lead, with Tataramoa on his left, and Jonas to his right, both slightly behind him. Elias wore his dragon skin tunic and gauntlets, while Tataramoa wore traditional sea elf battle garb, woven leather strips with bone and wood reinforcements. Jonas, on the other hand, just wore his steel studded traveling leathers, cleaned and oiled, over a quilted gambeson. They made for an impressive sight, riding towards the city gates, and the workers in the fields stopped and watched them as they rode. Some of them murmured his name as he rode past, recognizing him.
The gates stood open as they approached, which struck Elias as odd. Every walled town he had passed since returning to the mainland had kept its gates barred, but Valtheim simply had four guards standing across the road. As he and his companions grew closer, the guards stood at attention, hands on their hilts.
Elias did not recognize these men. Their dark gray armor bore no insignia, no sign of which lord they served. He reined his horse to a halt as they drew up to the men, Tataramoa and Jonas following suit on either side of him.
“What business have you in Valtheim, bushwalker?” one of the guards called out.
Elias bristled at the slur. “I come to see my friend, King Brandt, son of Brynjar.”
The guards looked at each other, chuckling darkly. The one that had spoken to Elias spoke again. “There is no 'King' Brandt anymore. He's the steward of this city, nothing more.”
Elias frowned. “Very well. I'd like to see the steward, then.”
“He's far too busy to see an elf. Go back to Lonwick, freak. The North has no use for your kind.”
Elias's frown deepened to a scowl. He glared at the guard. “I've spent more time in the north than you have, human. I lived in this city for sixty-eight years. I know he will see me. And you will take the message that Elias has returned.”
The guard was taken aback, taking a half step backwards, his hand tightening on the grip of his sword. “You don't give me orders, elf!” he spat, half drawing his blade. His three companions set their hands on their hilts as well, slipping their swords partially from their sheaths.
Elias dismounted, swinging his leg over his saddle, landing deftly on the ground. Stepping out of his stirrups, he set his hand on the handle of his sheathed greatsword, leaving it secured to his saddle. He stood there, squaring his shoulders, allowing the guards to soak in exactly how big he was. He towered over them all by at least a foot and was more than twice as massive as they were.
“You're right. I don't give you orders. But I can give friendly advice. Leave your swords sheathed, friends, and pass on my message to your steward. I'm certain he would be grateful for your noble and brave service, and none of us want a battle at the gates of Valtheim today.”
Each guard had taken another step back, hands still on their swords, eyes wide. They looked amongst each other uneasily, obviously sizing Elias up, when Jonas dismounted and tossed a small bag into the road at the feet of the first guard.
“There's ten gold coins in there. Split it up however you want, just quit fucking around, and quit wasting our time. Tell the steward that there's a guest at his damned gates. Let us in or make us wait here, just get about it.”
Hesitantly, the guard that had spoken reached down and picked up the pouch. Opening it, he quickly counted the coins, then turned and hurried towards the great hall. The other three guards positioned themselves across the gate, hands still resting on their hilts, keeping a wary eye on Elias, Jonas, and Tataramoa, who remained mounted on his horse.
After a short time, the guard came sprinting back. Breathless, he approached Elias.
“Steward Brandt will see you now. I will escort you.”
Elias brushed past him, leading his horse by the reins. “No need. I know this city like the back of my hand.”
The guard bristled, frowning. “Not as a guide. As an escort. You'll proceed to Brandt, and when your business is done, you'll leave.”
Elias scoffed. “I imagine that will be up to the steward.”
~ ~ ~
A wave of nostalgia washed over Elias as they walked through the city. Most of the buildings were just as he remembered them; some had new doors or windows, some fences were gone, some new ones had been built, but for the vast majority, it was almost as if he had never left.
Except for the stares. Even though Elias recognized most of the people in the city, they stared at him and whispered as he walked past them. They had done this when he had first arrived as a child, but they had quickly acclimated to his presence, more or less accepting him as a resident. Now, after hardly more than a year, he felt like a stranger in the town he had grown up in.
It wasn't a long walk to the city square, where his small house stood. It was still there, the stone structure older even than he was, but the windows were shattered, the door was broken off of its hinges, and half of the thatch roof had caved in. It looked as though it may have burned, though not completely, and long ago. He paused as they passed it, but only for a moment. He had business to attend to, and staring at his old home wasn't in the itinerary.
The doors to the great hall stood open before them in the late autumn sun, a cool breeze keeping the temperature from rising too much. He lashed the reins of his horse to a hitching post at the base of the great stone stairs that led up to the building, and Jonas and Tataramoa followed suit. They followed the guard, who hadn't spoken to them since the gates, up the stairs, and into the building.
Inside the hall, there was the usual assortment of warriors, nobles, and merchants, lounging about, holding what conversations they deemed important. The clamor died down as Elias entered, his greatsword conspicuously displayed on his back, while Jonas paced him to his right, longsword at his hip, and Tataramoa still on his left, spear in hand.
A tall man, powerfully built and richly dressed in intricately tooled leather and furs, stood from his seat on the raised dais on the far end of the room. It was Brandt, and his joy at seeing Elias was plain on his face.
“Elias! I feared you were dead! I almost didn't believe it when they told me you were at my gates!”
Elias walked up to Brandt, and they embraced. It had been shortly before the summer solstice of the year before when they had seen eac
h other, at Brandt's father's funeral. He had aged in the last year; his black hair was shot through with more gray and white than Elias remembered, his once smooth skin lined with light creases around his mouth, eyes, and forehead. Elias was suddenly very conscious of how much shorter lived humans were. Would Brandt be the fourth lord of the North he watched grow old and die?
The silence in the room as they were watched was palpable. Brandt and Elias looked around before Brandt gestured to his chambers.
“You must be tired after the long road. Come, we can converse in there. Your companions are welcome to join us, of course.”
They stepped through a large, iron-banded wooden door to the right of the dais, and closed it behind him. The last time Elias had been through that door, Brynjar had been lying on a bed in the next room, dying of a malady in his lungs. The entry chamber looked much like it had before, with a large table and several chairs in the center, various animal heads mounted on plaques around the walls, thick furs on the floor, and a stuffed bear, standing at full height in one corner. The walls here were made of thick timbers fitted together, warmer than the stone of the outer structure, and provided a much more comfortable setting. Lanterns arranged around the room provided ample light without filling the room with torch smoke, and a fire blazed in the large stone hearth on the southern wall.
Brandt took his seat and gestured for Elias, Jonas, and Tataramoa to do the same. He poured several goblets of wine from a carafe and handed them to his guests.
“So, Elias, I would guess that you have quite a story to tell, and many questions to ask. Where should we begin?”
Elias held his goblet, not drinking yet. He looked Brandt in the eye and raised an eyebrow. “Steward?”
Brandt sighed. “Yes. Steward. It was a necessary choice to make, to save Valtheim and her people. I had seven lords raise arms against me, and my bannermen did not respond to my call. The option was given of renouncing the throne or a siege.”
Elias frowned. “Could Valtheim not stand against a siege? Wilhelm was a competent captain; surely he could have led a defense that would have kept Valtheim free from invaders until you could rally your bannermen!”
Brandt looked down at the surface of the table. “Wilhelm did lead my guards to the defense of the city. They were slaughtered on the walls on the first night of the siege, a week after you left. My brothers were with him, and they were slain as well. Once the rebels held the walls, there was nothing more we could do.”
Elias was dumbstruck. “How did they take the walls? Did you not have the soldiers to defend them?”
Brandt spread his arms. “If my bannermen had come when I summoned them, it would have been short work. Even though I had more lords raise against me than I had counted on, we could have crushed them. Alone, I had three thousand cavalry, and ten thousand infantry, and many of those men were abroad, tasked by my father to keep peace in the kingdom, when I called them back to Valtheim.”
Brandt set his hands back on the table, still holding his goblet. “If I could have counted on my bannermen, there would have been close to five times those numbers. Without them, we were outnumbered three to one. They would have sacked Valtheim, killed her people, and burned her buildings to the ground. Twenty thousand souls would have ascended to the afterlife before their time, and my father's line would have been wiped entirely off of Erde.”
He took a drink from his goblet. “As it was, the concessions I had to make were nearly too much to bear. I wouldn't sacrifice my people for my pride, or my family's pride. In this way, I avoided a war that would have made the Northlands as barren as the Burning Sands.” He looked down, his eyes resting on the table again.
Elias furrowed his brow. “Where did the lords gather the men? I thought that Valtheim and Brynjar held more soldiers than the rest of the lords combined.”
Brandt shook his head. “Brynjar, maybe. I am not my father, as I am continually reminded. When he died, it would seem that our allies felt it was more... prudent to fortify themselves, rather than Valtheim. Now, each lord runs their own small kingdom, and Valtheim is overseen by the three most powerful, Adalhard, Carloman, and Gerulf. They led the forces that surrounded Valtheim, and Carloman himself delivered the terms.”
Elias sat back. “By the gods. Did the priests and their runes not see this coming?”
Brandt snorted. “They vanished from the city the night before Adalhard, Carloman, and Gerulf surrounded us. I can only assume they were in collusion with them. We've not had a priest in this city since; I may have limited authority as steward, but that, I can do. I'll trust in my sword arm more than I'll trust in a priest and their foul misdeeds.”
Elias cursed under his breath. “Is there anything that can be done? Can we break this rebellion?”
Brandt chuckled and poured himself another goblet of wine. “Elias, it's not a rebellion anymore. They won. I surrendered. It was a successful coup.”
Jonas snorted. “Bullshit. I bet a dagger in the back of those lords would shake their forces enough to reclaim the city, then the Northlands.” He tossed back his goblet, draining it. “A counter-coup.”
Brandt scoffed. “If it were that easy, don't you think I'd have done it by now? No, something turned my bannermen against me. Something united the three most powerful lords in the North against me. I could have taken any one of them in battle without the help of my bannermen, but not all three.”
Elias drummed his fingers against the table. “How many men do you still have that are loyal to you here in Valtheim?”
Brandt pondered for a moment. “Five thousand infantry, perhaps, and maybe five hundred cavalry. Enough to hold Valtheim if we were attacked by one or two of Lonwick's outposts or if a raiding party came from the Burning Sands. Most of my men were sent to other holds to cripple me, keep me from rising back up.” He sighed. “Last I heard, they were mostly north and west of here. Adalhard and Gerulf took the lion's share, while Carloman declined any of my men. He said he didn't trust them, though I know they were honorable to a man.”
Elias nodded. “Do you think they would still be loyal to you?”
Brandt shrugged. “Of course, but they have families. No doubt they were compelled to follow orders. If their families are being held hostage, then I wouldn't expect them to throw them under the carriage wheels to fight another war.”
Tataramoa nodded. “We have three thousand five hundred warriors less than an hour's march from here.”
Slowly, Brandt sipped his wine. “Of this, I am aware.”
Elias looked over at Tataramoa. “What are you thinking, my friend?”
Tataramoa glanced around. “I think, Kaiwhakaora, we should have this discussion back at our camp.”
Elias frowned. Tataramoa was usually much more direct than this. “Very well. We'll speak more when we return.”
Brandt glanced between the two of them, and Jonas, who seemed just as intrigued as Elias was himself. “Whatever it is, I trust that you will keep me informed, Elias?”
Elias nodded. “Of course. If it affects you or your people, I will tell you personally.”
Brandt nodded. “I appreciate that. It is good to see that though we've been apart for six seasons, we're still as brothers.”
Elias smiled. “Always.”
They stood to leave, and Brandt reached his hand out to Elias. Clasping each other by the wrist, they embraced again. “One more thing, Elias, before you go.”
Elias furrowed his brow. “What is it?”
Brandt sighed. “If it makes a difference in your plans, you should know; My mother was taken north, to Carloman's hold. He planned to marry her, to legitimize his claim to the Northlands, and gain the support of her allies. She's been putting him off for over a year now, but he is growing impatient, and she remains a hostage. While it has not been expressly said as such, I fear that any involvement on my part in any sort of uprising would endanger her safety.”
Elias frowned. “I understand. We will keep this in mind.” He clapped Brandt
on the shoulder. “Despite the circumstances of my return, it was good to see you again, Brandt.”
Brandt smiled, returning the gesture. “And you, Elias. I sense a story behind your eyes. You'll have to tell me over a pint of mead and a side of beef when you return.”
~ ~ ~
Elias sat near the campfire, his companions around him. The night was dark, overcast, but dry. A ring of warriors stood guard around his pavilion at Tataramoa's orders, twenty paces out and two paces apart, ensuring that nobody was close enough to eavesdrop. Elias felt a little awkward being surrounded in such a manner, but these were his warriors, and he trusted them.
“So out with it, Tatar,” said Jonas. “You've had your secrecy, your cloak and dagger, so now we're all itching to know.”
Tataramoa stirred the fire with a long stick. “I think I know a way to get our army into Valtheim, and not endanger Brandt, his men, or his mother. We just have to make it look like the town fell against his will. Once we're inside, we can join with his loyal men. We'll be much greater in number then, and we should be able to operate from Valtheim, while the rest of the lords think we just took it from Brandt.” He looked up at Elias. “They left him weak enough that it could happen.”
Jonas grimaced, shaking his head. “It's risky. They have two thousand more men than we do, and that's only if we count the men loyal to Brandt, who are sworn to protect the city from siege. That's not counting the soldier loyal to the three rebel lords.”
Tataramoa shook his head. “No, we have that many allies behind the walls. The soldiers placed by the three rebel lords, those are who we need to crush. If we add our numbers to Brandt's we have nine thousand warriors, and five hundred of them are cav... cabal... calrav... ride horses.”
Thunderbolt (Dynasty of Storms Book 2) Page 12